


The Barre Minimum

by cx_shhhh



Series: Barre-Crossed Lovers (a.k.a. The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Grocery Store, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentioned injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tattoos, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, cantaloupes aren't sexy, no beta we die like Romeo and Juliet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cx_shhhh/pseuds/cx_shhhh
Summary: This is basically a compilation of outtakes from the same universe as Raising the Barre, which you should definitely read first to understand what is going on here. Fluff without plot indeed.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Barre-Crossed Lovers (a.k.a. The Big Gay Shakespeare Ballet) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101842
Comments: 34
Kudos: 34





	1. Romeo and Mercutio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grocery store shenanigans. But make them ballet. And gay.

“Why do we have to do this?” Enjolras asks, as he tugs his shoes on. “I thought we just needed to grab some groceries from the nearest Monoprix. And Courf, why are you even in my apartment?”

Courfeyrac waves him off and replies, “You and your lovely boyfriend need to buy groceries, and I’m here to help you.”

He gestures over to where Grantaire is tying up the ribbons on his pointe shoes, but Enjolras still doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.

“Uh, then why does he need his pointe shoes?”

Courfeyrac sighs, “Well, I saw this trend where these people, like, dance while grabbing fruit or cans off the top shelf, and I was like, ‘Why not ask you two?’ So here we are. R already agreed, but I guess he forgot to let you know.”

“Yeah, I would’ve stretched at least,” Enjolras deadpans before raising his arms above his head. He’s not sure how well he can dance in jeans and combat boots, but he has a feeling that all he really needs to do is lift his boyfriend. Grantaire is also wearing skinny jeans, but it’s a well-known fact that he’s much more flexible than people give him credit for. Enjolras would know. And the millions worldwide who watched their production of _Romeo and Juliet._

“Also, I’m gonna be filming and posting this online,” Courfeyrac adds, in case that wasn’t obvious already.

“Of course.”

At the store, Enjolras asks, “So… what exactly do you want me to do?”

Grantaire shrugs and pulls them into an obscure corner where there aren’t as many people. They get a few stares because at this point, both of them are pretty well-known, but nobody really stops to pay them any mind. Enjolras feels his boyfriend squeeze his hand a little tighter, so he drops a hopefully comforting arm around his waist. 

In the snack aisle, Courfeyrac starts spouting directions at the speed of light, “Enj, you need to do a grand jeté, and then you help him do an arabesque penché while he grabs a bag of chips from the shelf. R, you need to bourrée sideways to put them into the basket. Do a pirouette or three with Enj’s help and end with a split. Enj, lift him up onto your shoulder and walk over to the shelf. R, grab something else and hug it like it’s, I don’t know, a plushie, and play up the dramatics. I know you’re good at that. Enj, carry him away, but don’t forget to take the basket with you.”

Enjolras groans, “I didn’t warm up enough for this. I literally thought we were just gonna get some fruit and leave.”

“Don’t be such a downer, darling. Besides, anything for our fans right? For _the people?_ ” Grantaire smirks when Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“I am such a weak fool,” he sighs. “Can’t even win against my own boyfriend.”

“Nope!” Grantaire chirps. “Now, let’s just get this over with. And you’re not weak or a fool. You’re just in love with me.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras teases, causing Grantaire to pout and glare at him.

“Okay, if you two are done being sappy, I’ve got an audience to surprise,” Courfeyrac interrupts just as Enjolras is about to give Grantaire a kiss. Grantaire grumbles and backs away but not before reaching up quickly and pecking his boyfriend’s cheek.

As quickly as possible, they film this short clip. Enjolras most definitely regrets wearing jeans when his jeté is not quite as perfect as he’d like it to be, but he can at least stare at Grantaire’s nice butt, especially when he goes and bends over to grab those chips. By the time they’re done, some people have gathered to observe, and Enjolras has to fight the urge to push his boyfriend behind his back.

Courfeyrac pushes them toward the liquor aisle and says, “Okay, next, I need you to hold one of R’s ankles while he’s in a split and drag him across while he snags a bottle of wine. And then you do a jeté to put it back. R, walk over and do something cute and grab two more before stepping away.”

“Wow, way to paint me as a wine-obsessed freak,” Grantaire teases, giving Courfeyrac a light shove.

“Oh, my sweet, darling R, I would never!” Courfeyrac exclaims, shoving him back. Enjolras feels like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t, which is weird considering this is his boyfriend and one of his best friends.

Quickly changing the subject, he asks, “Sweetheart, how are your legs not even screaming at you yet?”

Grantaire sticks his tongue out and replies, “I stretch. And you know how flexible I am.”

Now is definitely not the time, so Enjolras resolutely does not think about his lover’s flexibility and thinks about something completely unsexy instead. Like cantaloupe. Cantaloupe? He probably just wants food.

“Again, I thought we were only coming to get food,” he complains, and his stomach complains too.

“You can have me after we finish,” Grantaire says, pressing a kiss to his lips. Courfeyrac makes gagging noises from the side.

“ _Please,_ I’m begging you two not to be so disgusting in front of the baby, which is me.”

“Give me a break. You and ‘Ferre were so gross when you first got together.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been together for over three months! Isn’t the honeymoon period supposed to be over by now?” Courfeyrac punctuates this by throwing his hands in the air in confusion. Grantaire firmly shakes his head and before anyone can say anything else, promptly lifts a leg into the air. Even after three months, the ease with which he does that never fails to surprise Enjolras. He does get over his initial shock faster than usual and grabs the ankle hovering in front of his face and splays his fingers over Grantaire’s torso.

The smile he receives is sweet, but he doesn’t miss the way Grantaire’s eyes go briefly dark. _Cantaloupes. Perfect._

They finally manage to finish filming the clip after Grantaire nearly drops the wine bottles and Enjolras almost drops Grantaire. Courfeyrac sighs in exasperation before they purchase their groceries and leave. Enjolras gets his fruit.

Later that afternoon, Courfeyrac posts the two videos. Enjolras checks his phone while doing tendus at the barre installed in his and Grantaire’s bedroom, and sure enough, Instagram and Twitter are both flooded with notifications.

“Grocery store shenanigans are popular, I guess,” Enjolras muses. Grantaire hums while putting on his own slippers to do the same. The piano music filters through the busy sounds of the street below them. They move from the barre to do an adagio exercise as best as they can in their bedroom. While Grantaire takes his time holding his leg upright, Enjolras decides right then and there that there’s little he loves more than dancing with his boyfriend and partner, whether it is onstage at the Palais Garnier, in the grocery store, or alone at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by Alex Wong's grocery store videos. His stuff is just funny in general.


	2. Folk Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get matching tattoos because they're saps, and Grantaire gets much more than that.

“Have you ever wanted to get any tattoos?” Enjolras asks when he and Grantaire are stretching out in the studio.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow and replies, “Who says I don’t have any yet?”

“R, my love, I’ve literally mapped your entire body with my mouth, save for some places, but I doubt you’d get a tattoo on the sole of your foot or under your armpit. There is no way a tattoo would escape my scrutiny.”

“Touché. Anyway, yes, eventually. I just don’t know what I’d get,” Grantaire sighs. “And it can’t be large or anything or Fantine will have my ass.”

“Your ass is mine. I was just thinking-” Enjolras gets interrupted.

_“Wow.”_

He glares at Grantaire and continues, “Yes, I was _thinking_ that we could maybe get matching tattoos. We’ve performed countless shows together, so I think it’s a reasonable commitment, right?”

When his boyfriend doesn’t reply, Enjolras glances up from where he was previously bent over. Grantaire is staring at him, dumbfounded.

“You want matching tattoos?” he asks at last, snapping out of his stupor. “With me?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah. Unless you don’t want to…?”

“No, I definitely do. In fact, I’ll sketch some ideas.”

That is the end of that conversation, and he catches his boyfriend as he falls dramatically into his arms.

For someone with such a high pain tolerance, Grantaire sure doesn’t hold back on clutching Enjolras’s hand as tightly as possible. Obviously, getting a tattoo is different from standing on one’s toes, but Enjolras can’t feel his fingers anymore.

In the end, it looks amazing, even thoroughly wrapped in plastic wrap, but maybe his opinion is truly biased. Grantaire could get a literal pile of shit tattooed on his body, and Enjolras would still think he looks amazing. Thankfully, no piles of shit were tattooed, so he ghosts a finger over his boyfriend’s belly, where a tiny bottle with half of a broken heart now resides.

And then Enjolras clings to Grantaire’s hand equally as tightly, or maybe even tighter. Nobody will ever hear about it either way.

After the tattoos heal, Enjolras notices how his boyfriend takes every opportunity to take a peek at his right pec, where a small dagger and the other half of the heart lives. When they are cuddled together in bed to rest after a whole day of rehearsals, Grantaire will trace it with delicate fingertips while Enjolras watches him fondly. In return, Enjolras covers Grantaire’s tattoo with his thumb and strokes a few times, eliciting a giggle and a flinch. Too bad he’s so ticklish.

They fall asleep with Grantaire’s cheek resting against Enjolras’s chest and Enjolras’s fingers curved protectively around Grantaire’s waist.

Of all their friends, Combeferre is the first to notice this tiny change when Enjolras takes off his shirt to change.

“Since when did you get a tattoo?” he asks, and his friend smirks.

“Like a month ago. It’s honestly a wonder you didn’t notice earlier,” Enjolras replies, tugging a new shirt over his head. “R has a matching one.”

Combeferre remarks, “That’s quite the dedication. Is this a pledge of sorts? Like wedding vows in cheesy ballet form?”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows in return and answers simply, “I love him.”

“That was never a question, Enj. Besides, I think it’s cool.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Enjolras says sincerely. Combeferre’s opinion shouldn’t matter to him as much as it does, but it’s valuable to him. Perhaps Enjolras _should_ consider proposing to his boyfriend.

“I’m curious, though. What does R’s look like?”

Enjolras winks and replies, “You’re a clever man, ‘Ferre. Maybe when he wears that cute cat pun shirt of his again, everyone will find out.”

They do find out. Enjolras will not admit to being the one to tell his boyfriend to wear that particular shirt again, but he does, and Grantaire only tilts his head curiously.

“Why this shirt exactly?” he asks, befuddled. “Do I look particularly sexy with a picture of a lazy kitten attempting to do an arabesque and the words, ‘Feline so lazy right meow. Cat move,’ stamped over my chest?”

Enjolras only tugs the shirt over his boyfriend’s head, causing him to yelp and squeal in surprise, but he has to agree. Grantaire does look extremely sexy and cute in it, and it exposes just enough of his midriff to display the little bottle. Enjolras kisses him soundly while lightly grazing over it with a finger because he’s just really fucking adorable, okay?

“Abs,” he replies simply.

“Riiiight. Abs, which you have too… unless this is payback for when I was shamelessly ogling you after I got sick. If that’s the case, I’ll have to change.”

Enjolras mockingly panics and quips, “What would I do in the absence of your beautiful belly? Alright, that alliteration was admittedly quite weird, but my point still stands. You look adorable in that shirt. So adorable I could just cuddle you and then f-”

“OKAY!” Grantaire interrupts, covering his boyfriend’s mouth with his left hand and his own blushing face with his right. “None of that right now, or we’ll never leave the apartment. We need to get to rehearsal, darling.”

Grinning slyly against his palm, Enjolras peels it off his mouth but makes sure to drop a kiss into it before he lets go of his wrist. Grantaire’s flush darkens before he closes his fingers around the kiss, miming putting it in the pocket of his kitten-print leggings. They smile dopily at each other for another solid minute before snapping out of it and walking to the studio.

“My fair R, so gorgeous and talented,” Enjolras begins as they’re stretching out their feet. He will always be envious of his boyfriend’s arches. “Actually that’s it. That’s my whole speech. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you?” Grantaire replies, standing in his pointe shoes and going up on relevé before rolling up en pointe. “This isn’t because my tattoo is on full display right now, is it?”

Enjolras frowns at his little plan having been discovered.

“Is it so bad that I just want to be able to look at it all the time?” he asks. “I promise it’s not me being possessive or anything.”

Grantaire turns red again and mumbles, “Actually, I kinda like it when you’re possessive, but I know that's not what you meant. I wouldn’t worry about it either because you have my mark branded on you too, as much as I hate to call it that because of its negative connotation.”

Enjolras gets up to take him into his arms and press their lips together, noticing how his boyfriend carefully strokes the location of his tattoo over his heart and then leans in to press a tiny kiss to the fabric covering it.

“Tomorrow, though, wear a v-neck. Or just forgo a shirt completely and go shirtless,” Grantaire remarks nonchalantly, but Enjolras knows that he would probably enjoy that a lot.

“Whatever you like, sweetheart.”

As it turns out, it takes less than a minute for Courfeyrac to notice Grantaire’s tattoo upon walking into the studio and start squealing about it. It takes him even less when Enjolras arrives the next day sans shirt. He does end up putting on one, though, because too many of the women, and some of the men, faint dramatically.

Grantaire pouts at the loss but smiles against his boyfriend’s lips when he gets coaxed up en pointe and into a kiss resembling the one at the end of the balcony scene after Enjolras drops to one knee with a ring held out to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't let this AU go.


	3. The People Continue to Make Merry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get flustered, overwhelmed, and married.

Joly flits around Grantaire, trying to tame the wild mess that is his hair until Bossuet nudges his boyfriend out of the way and takes over, a little ironically considering he’s bald.

“This is futile, guys. My hair doesn’t even stay put when I dance,” Grantaire sighs, carefully applying eyeliner.

“Well, thankfully, you’re not doing ballet today,” Joly huffs in response. Honestly, he’s probably more stressed than Grantaire is, but he’s not even the one getting married today. The eyeliner clatters to the floor.

_“Holy shit, I’m getting married,”_ Grantaire whispers breathlessly. “What the fuck, what the fuck. Pinch me, Boss.”

His friends hug him instead, squeezing his robe-clad body until he calms down. Grantaire breathes, and the nervousness turns to excited butterflies. He picks his eyeliner back up, thanking the deities above that he closed it before it could make a mess all over the floor. He finishes with a bit of tinted lip balm, soft pink in color.

Grantaire stares at himself in the mirror, not even in his tux yet, and feels tears prickle in the corner of his eyes. His hair curls charmingly over his forehead, and he fiddles with the sleeves of his robe, taking it all in.

Joly breathes, “Oh, you are a vision,” and gives his clean-shaven cheek a kiss. He’s careful not to get any makeup on his clothes when he pulls on the shirt and then the suit jacket. When Bossuet takes out a pair of dress shoes, Grantaire looks at them and back at his friend before grinning.

“Nah, I have something else,” he tells them. “I want to see the shock on my dear fiancé’s face when we see each other for the first time today.”

“Okay…? Are you gonna enlighten us?” Joly asks. Grantaire pulls a black shoebox out of his closet and opens it, turning around to reveal its contents to his friends.

Bossuet whistles, “Oh boy. You’re really trying to kill Enjolras before you can even marry him, aren’t you.”

“Only a little,” Grantaire shrugs before taking the satin heels out and slipping them on, tying up the ribbons around his ankles like he would for his pointe shoes. They’re black and high enough to boost him up quite a bit, though he knows he still won’t be at the same height as Enjolras when they stand next to each other.

When he stands up, Joly and Bossuet instinctively catch his elbows, but he glares at them and says, “Please. Have more faith in my balance. I’ve been doing ballet for more years than I can count on my fingers and toes, so if there’s one thing I can do, it’s walking in heels while looking damn good in them.”

And he does. The heels give him a strut of sorts, and he doesn’t trip once. At the doorway to his suite, Grantaire bows, and Joly and Bossuet applaud for him like the good friends they are. They make their way downstairs, and Grantaire is pleased when he hears the sound of his heels clicking on the tiled floor. He and Enjolras had elected to do a “first reveal” to get all their preliminary nervousness out, so he’s led to a corner of the venue’s courtyard where Enjolras stands facing the wall.

Grantaire knows he’s fucked the moment he sees Enjolras’s back. The black suit stretches across his broad shoulders, and if that doesn’t make Grantaire salivate a little, he doesn’t know what would. His neatly combed hair shines in the afternoon sunlight, causing Grantaire’s breath to catch a little. As he quietly approaches, he can see Enjolras tilt his head to the side, probably wondering why his footsteps sound different.

Lifting a hand, Grantaire gently taps Enjolras’s shoulder, and he inhales nervously as his fiancé turns around. The expression on his face quickly morphs into one of genuine surprise as he takes in Grantaire in all his suited and heeled glory.

“You-” Enjolras cuts off helplessly. Grantaire feels smug and a little weak himself. How dare Enjolras look so hot?

“Me,” he replies, grinning widely. “But _you_.”

Enjolras shakes his head, making sure to drink in every detail of his soon-to-be husband. He says, “No, no. I’m still not over this. Over you. You look… fucking… you make me stupid, R.”

And yet he always knows the right thing to say to make Grantaire just that much more emotional.

“Fuck you. You’re gonna make me cry. And I actually tried on this mascara. _Fuck,_ ” he replies emphatically. “And if I make you stupid, then you make me a whole dumbass.”

Enjolras shrugs, “If it’s all the same to you, you’d still look gorgeous with streaks of black down your cheeks too. And we can be two halves of a whole idiot in love with each other.”

“I love you. Ack. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Go back in, tears. Now’s not the time to make an appearance,” Grantaire curses and pokes Enjolras’s chest. “Why do my tear ducts love you? They seem to decide I need to be all weepy when you’re around.”

Enjolras only smiles and catches Grantaire’s wrist before lifting it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. He murmurs, “I wish I could give you a proper kiss, but I’m afraid it won’t end at a kiss, and you seem to have spent quite a bit of effort on your appearance.”

Grantaire snatches his hand back and huffs, “Damn straight… gay. One of us will be looking fabulous when we get married, and it’s definitely not you.”

Obviously, it’s going to be Enjolras because he looks good in anything everywhere, but Grantaire just wants to hear him agree with what he says for once.

Enjolras hums as if actually considering it, but once his fiancé looks down bashfully at his shoes and scuffles them against the pavement, concedes, “You look fabulous even when you’re drooling onto my pillow. I’m just the lucky fool who gets to marry you.”

It’s honestly a wonder Grantaire doesn’t start sobbing in the middle of the courtyard because what did he even do to make such a kind, talented, amazing man fall in love with him? His lips starts trembling, but Enjolras puts a hand on his arm.

“Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry, and we’ll never actually get married because we’ll just be two sniffling messes instead of two married sniffling messes. Or at least I’ll be a mess. You’ll be as lovely as ever.”

Grantaire punches Enjolras’s chest and exclaims, “Shut up! This is all your fault. Let’s fucking get married already.”

“Let’s get married,” Enjolras agrees, taking Grantaire’s hand and walking toward the entrance. Their gathered friends and family all gasp and cheer, and Grantaire smiles. He is only a little ashamed to say that he zones out in favor of staring into Enjolras's eyes for most of the talking until it’s time to exchange vows.

“I think it might come as a shock to everyone in this room that I didn’t really prepare a speech,” Enjolras begins. “I definitely did hunch over a stupid piece of paper during the hours that we didn’t have rehearsal before I decided, fuck it, I can’t just prepare my feelings ahead of time.”

Grantaire bites his lip to hide his smitten smile but is largely unsuccessful. He thinks Joly snickers at him from behind.

“R, sweetheart, I could simply recite one of Shakespeare’s sonnets to you, but that wouldn’t even begin to compare to how much I love you. He did get something right, in that I’m utterly undeserving of your love. You’re beautiful on and offstage, so talented at everything as displayed by the sketches decorating our walls and the muffins you bake for the company, and absolutely adorable when you demand cuddles when we’re supposed to be getting ready for rehearsal. I will, however, give you as many cuddles as you want, even if you end up replacing me for our cat.”

Everyone laughs, and Enjolras rubs the backs of Grantaire’s hands with his thumbs. He continues, “I am a disaster in the kitchen, but I can make soup that’s only mildly horrific for when you’re sick and coffee full of a shitload of sugar for when you’re still sleepy. And even when my arms are tired from carrying your gorgeous ass around after a full day of ballet, I’ll still give you massages.”

Enjolras releases one of Grantaire’s hands, only to reach out and cup his cheek and bring their faces closer together. Grantaire inhales shakily and resolutely doesn’t cry.

“For the most part, I just want you to know that you can always rely on me to support you, whether that’s when I’m partnering you or if you want a shoulder to cry on, and if there’s one thing I’m fairly certain I’m good at, it’s loving you. Go on a million hot chocolate dates with me, dance with me for strangers in the park, and let’s change the world together, one gay ballet at a time.”

“Enjolras, you talented motherfucker-” Grantaire starts before he gets cut off by the audience’s laughter, “-how did you just come up with that? I would call bullshit if I didn’t already know that everything that comes out of your mouth is pure genius. We aren’t even married yet, and you’re already making me cry, and I actually put effort into my appearance today! I also did have a whole speech planned out, yet here we are. My future husband, folks.”

He gestures to all of Enjolras before turning back to him and saying, “First of all, fuck you. Point B, ditto. You know I love you because I already have tattoos for you, some in places I won’t share, but I’m fairly certain every single member of this audience knows exactly where because you don’t stop staring at it. Ever. Not that I want you to stop. This vow is no longer PG-13, so in the video that we’re inevitably going to release to the public because apparently the world loves us almost as much as I love you, we’re definitely skipping this part. Especially because nobody needs to hear this pointe-less ballet pun. Haha. You’re going to have to Odile with me for the rest of your life, and I love you, even if you’re just as horrible as I am at taking care of yourself. Regardless, we’ll weather these times together with plenty of IcyHot and New-Skin, and I can’t wait to yell at you for the rest of our lives because you’re one hell of a reckless shit. I love you, you jerk, so marry me already.”

Enjolras is smiling so tenderly, and Grantaire is almost certain he can see tears glimmering in those gorgeous eyes of his. They don’t stop gazing at each other’s faces even as they exchange rings, and Enjolras tugs Grantaire forward and kisses him while the officiant is still speaking. People cheer, and biodegradable confetti flowers flutter around them. When they part, Grantaire grins and plucks away a piece that had lodged itself in Enjolras’s blond hair.

After their first dance, Grantaire yelps as his new husband dips him backwards in front of all their friends and kisses him solidly. That definitely was not planned, but he just goes with it and hitches a leg up and around Enjolras’s waist in retaliation. It’s definitely Courfeyrac who applauds the loudest and whistles at them. In the corner, Fantine is smiling giddily like the proud mother figure she is, even though they refused to incorporate as many ballet steps in their choreography as she would have liked. Grantaire isn’t about to do any jumps or turns in those heels of his anytime soon.

It’s still a little surprising when Enjolras pulls him back into his arms and allows them to sway gently. The surroundings melt away until Grantaire’s vision is focused on him and him alone. He tilts his head up to smile at Enjolras, but his husband is already looking back at him with a tiny grin of his own. Grantaire melts and thinks, _If this is what my life is going to look like from now on, may it never end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debating changing the series name to "Barre-Crossed Lovers". Thoughts?


	4. The Nurse Gives Romeo the Note from Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets injured, and Grantaire reacts accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: hospitals, recovery after injury, side effects of anesthesia, probably a lot of medical inaccuracies. It's the aftermath, don't worry. I think it's fluffy.
> 
> This is the last installation of this ballet AU, oh my God. I'm not ready to let this gooooooooooo.

Grantaire is going to murder someone. Maybe his husband, who is just a little too reckless. Enjolras is now hospitalized because he tried to execute a triple tour en l’air without warming up and stretching out properly like the beautiful and talented fool he is. In Grantaire’s entire career in ballet, he has never injured himself, knocking on wood, even after performing entire shows en pointe. And then his idiot husband goes and fucking _falls over_.

Now, Grantaire is sitting in a chair at Enjolras’s bedside and hasn’t moved the entire time he’s been admitted. Well, until surgery, and he had to leave because it was just so horrifying to watch. But now he’s back after Joly forced pieces of a baguette down his throat and a cup of coffee with a shitload of sugar. At least the injury won’t be fatal to Enjolras’s career, so he will be eternally grateful for that. God forbid Grantaire lose his favorite partner, right?

The sterile room combined with the beeping of a bunch of machines of unknown functions as well as that cup of coffee are taking a toll on his body, so Grantaire slumps down in his chair. He glances at his husband’s unconscious self again and clasps Enjolras’s right hand in both of his own before resting his head on the hospital bed.

“You’re such a fool. I love you,” Grantaire mutters before he’s lulled to sleep.

The first thing he feels when he blinks his eyes open again is the soft caress of a thumb against the back of his hand. It sends a jolt of excitement through him, and all of a sudden, he’s wide awake again.

“Enj, you’re up!”

The man in question only gives Grantaire a blank stare and croaks, “Oh my God, your eyes are so pretty.”

Grantaire laughs and shakes his head disbelievingly, “What?”

Enjolras continues to wax poetic about his eyes and how blue they are in that hoarse voice of his until Grantaire snaps out of it and fetches a cup of water.

“I watched you sleep, y’know. Not to be creepy or anything. I just- I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face as lovely as yours,” Enjolras continues, much to Grantaire’s bewilderment. “Are you single?”

Suddenly it all makes sense to him. Grantaire swallows down a laugh, shaking his head, and replies, “No, I’m very happily married to my husband, who is the sweetest and kindest man to live on this planet.”

It’s almost comical how quickly Enjolras’s face falls and how quickly he tries to hide it. He turns his head, so he can’t look at him and says, “Well, I guess I can’t compete. Your husband must also be the luckiest man to live on this planet.”

That makes Grantaire’s heart twist in the most heart-wrenching way, and holy shit, he loves Enjolras so much. He takes pity on him and caves, reaching across the bed to take Enjolras’s left hand in his own, making sure that their matching rings are visible. He kisses his husband’s cheek fondly.

“If anyone’s the luckiest man to live on this planet, it must be me,” Grantaire mumbles. Enjolras looks at him in surprise and awe and countless other emotions.

“You mean, you willingly married me? And you’re calling me sweet and kind?” he asks, incredulous, but he never takes his eyes off of Grantaire’s face. _“Wow, I got so lucky.”_

“What the fuck, I love you so much. I hate you. Come back to me,” Grantaire says, overwhelmed by the fact that Enjolras still doesn’t remember him, for one, but is still showing this much affection for him. He feels a hand on his cheek, and he leans into it. Enjolras is still staring at him like he can’t believe his eyes, and honestly, Grantaire just wants to know what he’s thinking _if_ he’s thinking at all.

“I’m tired,” Enjolras sighs, and Grantaire reaches out to brush the golden hair away from his forehead. Enjolras catches his wrist and brushes a kiss over the pulsepoint, silently pleading for him to stay. Grantaire, not even thinking about it twice, slips his shoes off and climbs up onto the bed next to his husband and curls up to his side. Enjolras struggles a bit, but he scoots over to make it a little more comfortable and lifts the blanket to tuck Grantaire in with him.

“Sleep, darling. Also cuddle me.”

Enjolras lifts a hand and buries it in Grantaire’s hair, petting a little, and Grantaire almost whimpers at the familiarity of it. He tilts his head up and looks into Enjolras’s warm blue eyes before snuggling close. His husband is really nice to cuddle up to.

“R?”

Grantaire refuses to open his eyes and instead nuzzles his pillow. His pillow, which moves to stroke at his back. A nice voice rumbles against his cheek, “Grantaire, my love, I know you’re awake.”

“Mmm, ‘m not,” he mumbles. “Wanna sleep.”

Grantaire feels a pair of lips press to his forehead, so he blearily opens his eyes and immediately squints against the hospital lights. Maybe it’s the fact that his emotions have been running wild, or maybe it’s the fact that Enjolras remembers and is smiling at him that brings tears to his eyes. Without his permission, they begin sliding down his cheeks, and he’s suddenly sniffling.

The door slams open, and Courfeyrac stomps in, followed by Combeferre. He points a finger at Enjolras’s nose and says, “You may be my best friend, Enj, but if you get hurt like that _again_ , I will personally make sure you never dance again. In fact, think about your poor hubby! R doesn’t deserve to cry because you overestimated what your dumb ass could do. Seriously, he’s stayed by your side for days while you recovered, so fucking take care of yourself. Now kiss and be gross after I leave. Courf OUT.”

Combeferre smiles shakily before giving Enjolras a hug and following Courfeyrac back the way he came. Meanwhile, Grantaire’s face is buried against Enjolras’s neck to hide the flush rapidly rising to his cheeks.

“He’s just being dramatic,” he mumbles, still sniffling.

“No, he’s right. And I would kiss you, but my mouth feels and probably tastes disgusting,” Enjolras replies, hugging his husband close instead. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Grantaire’s heart feels warm, and the only logical thing would be to press his lips to Enjolras’s, regardless of the taste in both of their mouths. The tingling warmth spreads down to the tips of his toes, and he doesn’t really care that they’re making out in an uncomfortable hospital bed, pressed together everywhere. Enjolras pries Grantaire’s left hand from where it was clutching the awful hospital gown and locks their fingers together, thumb rubbing over the band on his ring finger.

He kisses it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it until the end! If I get inspiration, we'll see what happens. :)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr [here](http://cx-shhhh.tumblr.com/)! I post a lot of memes and stuff, so maybe something will catch your interest. Feel free to send me an ask or rant about how adorable Grantaire is. I also have a few behind-the-scenes posts there under the tag, “the big gay shakespeare ballet”.


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